


Botany

by KelloggsCornsnakes



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Use, Evan centric, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelloggsCornsnakes/pseuds/KelloggsCornsnakes
Summary: A blank canvas.Something rustles within, jumping out at each heaving heart beat.He swallows. Stomachs it. There's splashback, acid bursting forward and then falling back down his throat and burning.He ends up among hundreds more trees, in the middle of nowhere.He ends up climbing one of them, all the way to the top.And maybe he actually has power in this one small moment. He's actually in charge of where this goes.He doesn't plan it.Not really.Not at first.





	1. Douglas Fir (June)

A blank canvas.

Something rustles within, jumping out at each heaving heart beat.

He swallows. Stomachs it. There's splashback, acid bursting forward and then falling back down his throat and burning.

And he fumbles to grab a pen, this one so much sleeker and better crafted than the rest in the jar on the windowsill. He's been saving it. It's gold ink, a souvenir from one of Jared's family trips to Europe. Germany, he thinks. A pity gift, for being ignored the entirety of Winter Break. It's beautiful. Too nice for environment essays for school, at least. He's never wanted to waste it on his incoherent words so he's never used it at all.

It flows smooth and satisfying onto the page, a piece of blue lined, three holed, college rule journal paper. He loops his handwriting especially fancily today, works at each individual letter, and maybe it's for presentation but maybe it's just to delay each subsequent sentence a little while longer. He rips it carefully along the dotted line and places it on his desk, between the lamp and his pet cactus, Dennis. 

"Dear Evan Hansen," he reads aloud, voice barely above a whisper. "Today is going to be a good day because-"

There's a single, steadily blinking light outside the window, distracting all attention. It only takes a second to go over and close the blinds but, by the time he has, Evan reconsiders his letter.

"It's not," He sighs, crumbling it up and shoving it into his trash bin. He blinks, thinks better of his actions, and fishes it back out, unwrinkling it's folds. "Recycling, duh."

The second attempt survives its initial inspection. It sits in the top drawer of his dresser, underneath his underwear—where he knows his mom won't accidentally see it—for the next week and a half. It's only after one of his harder days at work, with no response to his distressed texts to Jared, and an empty house when he gets home, that he digs it out again.

At first, all he does is look at it until his own penmanship sears into his eyelids and he cannot close them without seeing all the worst parts of himself. Then, he shoves the note in his pocket and reaches into the desk. He removes an exacto blade, turns it over in his hands. Desperately, he presses it flush to his arm. But he winces before any nick has been made and, in his shock, hurls the knife across the room, where it hits the wall, bounces down onto the bed and stares benevolently back at him. It can't hurt him by itself. It's just a tool, he remembers. It's him that's wrong. 

Evan gasps for air. He rubs at the beginnings of a headache, this throbbing pain that seeps in and out, and finds that his eyes are watering. Then, he's so suddenly calm that it scares him.

So he fills his backpack, he's not sure why, with everything he thinks he might need. Clothes, notebook, toothbrush, phone. He runs, fast, down the stairs and to the garage. Gets on his bike. Rides.

The sky is yellowing. Hazy white clouds go by slowly. There's something magical about the first few days of June every year that makes this place look so hopeful. Even Evan can see it, as he passes by all the things he loves about his hometown. There's his neighbour's picket fence on his left. There's the library round the corner. And everywhere he goes, there are these gorgeous green Cedar trees, shading him from the harsh late afternoon sun.

He ends up among hundreds more trees, in the middle of nowhere. 

He ends up climbing one of them, all the way to the top.

And maybe he actually has power in this one small moment. He's actually in charge of where this goes. 

Evan clenches his free hand into a tight fist until his fingernails start to mark his palm. His other hand, wrapped around the neck of a branch above him, loosens. He swings forward a little, pressing his weight to his toes. He watches the horizon, where he can see all the far off houses of his classmates, all the people he could have had as friends if only he had done something differently. He can see the distant mountains too, and he feels less sick looking at them with their snowy tips and gentle presence. That glorious yellow sky is still there beyond them, that brilliant sun still beaming out at him.

He doesn't plan it.

Not really.

Not at first.

It just happens so unexpectedly. The branch gives way without warning and it's only afterward that Evan realizes that he's the one who let go. In the moment, he truly believes that it's an accident. He must be falling, not jumping. He must be. Only, that's not what the note in his pocket implies. That's not what happens. He's jumping, launching himself onto the ground so he hits it hard and fast and rolls onto his side when he does.

He picks himself up, stumbles, brushes himself off and, all alone and absolutely by himself, he is overcome with a great sense of disappointment. The numbness of his insides has only spread outward. His arm aches and when he lifts it, it feels as though it's fallen asleep. He's not angry at the sensation there, which grows into a stabbing pain as time goes on. He's angry at the rest of his body for protecting itself. His skull that kept his brain intact. His chest for not collapsing in on itself.

But he's alive, he knows that, even with disappointment. Surviving means consequences. Evan doesn't want to think about the kind of fear that would hit his mother if she knew. His face is wettening so he raises his arm to wipe it clean and is struck with more pain. He needs a hospital, probably.

He lays down and curls back into himself. Maybe if he does nothing, it will be enough to kill him. At least he can wait a few more hours until he's forced to keep living a life he's clearly just destroyed. He presses his face into the grass and bunches some up in his hand, just to be doing something to let the frustration out. He turns onto his back, scrunching his eyes closed and opening them again.

Someone is standing off to the side. He can't really make them out because it's dark now and their figure is a blur but they're coming closer, kneeling down. Evan's vision shifts in and out. He must be hallucinating. The stranger is made out of smoke. Or, more likely, they're smoking something. They're close to Evan's face, shaking him, he thinks, and the smoke hits him and he coughs heavily. The stranger must be speaking too but all Evan can hear is abstract sounds. It hits him that he's falling asleep but all he can think to do to fight it is to pull himself up to the smoke and nuzzle himself further into the human heat in front of him. The warm person who's there seems to grasp him somehow. He wonders if this is him dying. He wonders if he's being led to his feet or rising out of his body. He cannot bring himself to care much because his consciousness slips then and he closes his eyes and lets himself fall to the ground.

When he wakes, it's to a buzzing white noise in a white walled room, where a white outfitted nurse is wrapping his arm in white bandages. Evan shuts his eyes. "You'll need a cast," the nurse says kindly, having noticed him watching her. "Should I tell your friend you've woken up, dear?"

Evan gives a noncommittal hum. "Who?" He asks sleepily.

"The boy with the long hair?"

Evan nods uncertainly, though he has no clue who that might be. His only real friend is Jared who 1. shouldn't know where he is and 2. would never grow his hair out. Still, if someone is there to see him, he shouldn't deny them, even if he does feel completely awful. 

"Has anyone called my mom?"

"Not yet. Would you like us to?" 

"No!"

"Oh," The nurse shrugs "Okay, hon. Well, you should be out of here by dinnertime anyway."

When she leaves, she leaves the door slightly ajar and, half a minute later, it opens fully and in comes, as promised, a tall, longhaired teenage boy. He peeks in just enough to make eye contact. His gazes shifts down to his painted nails. Connor Murphy, the most notorious bad boy of their grade, looks sheepish, small almost. There's a sort of soft compassion in the way he checks in on Evan's state and vanishes, unlike anything that Evan's ever seen from him. He must have been the one in the woods. Evan opens his mouth to thank him but, elusive like the smoke, he's already gone.

Evan goes home that night with a cast and pretends that he is alright. He fell, he tells his mother. He doesn't tell her about the note, which he folds up and puts away, and he doesn't tell her about Connor. When Jared calls, he makes up a story to explain the texts and is made fun of for it. It doesn't matter. They don't need to know. They don't need to know.

He isn't sure, entirely, how much Connor knows. Anxiety tells him it's everything. It says he saw it all and let it happen. It says he'll tell the whole school in September. Everyone will know. 

They won't, Evan reminds himself. He helped him, Evan reminds himself. It's no use trying to fight these ugly thoughts. They take over the next days. His mom keeps asking how he is. His therapist keeps saying he's doing better. Evan, on his own, is not doing better.

The forest is empty, large and quiet and permanently still. In his free time, nerdy as it undeniably is, Evan loves documenting the species of plants he finds. On Friday, there's an impressive Douglas Fir at the apex of a hill, with a big shady spot beneath it. It's perfect for a picnic so he chooses to eat his lunch there. He's just unwrapping his sandwhich, vegetarian on brown bread, from beeswax paper, when he spots someone walking up the trail toward him.

This time, he's in his proper state of mind and able to see who it is. Connor, in a dark "Pearl Jam" hoodie, has his head tilted down toward his cupped hands. He honestly doesn't mean to stare but he's too curious to ignore him. Connor blows a puff of smoke and his eyelids flicker closed, seemingly in euphoria.

"Oh." Evan squeaks out, noticing the joint hanging between his fingers.

"Oh, god," Connor groans, turning. "What the hell do you want?"

Evan trembles. He's trying to respond, he really is, but he can't seem to. He just shakes. Like a baby, anxiety taunts. A worthless little crybaby who can't even talk to other people after they've saved his life.

"Oh, god," Connor repeats but his tone has changed. "Don't cry. No... shit!"

Connor approaches like one might approach a spooked animal. He stops, adjusts himself so he doesn't look quite so pitying—which Evan appreciates—and sits down across from him. "I'm a fucking terrible person." he says, more to himself than to Evan.

"Y-You're not," Evan sniffs. "I'm sorry."

"The fuck are you apologizing for?"

"For staring at you?"

Connor gives a gruff half laugh. "Yeah, well. It's okay. I do look pretty weird."

"You don't! You look, umm, well, I think you look cool at least and, oh sorry, I'm rambling again, sorry, I-"

"Hansen."

"Huh?"

"It is Hansen right? Ethan Hansen?"

"Oh. Yep. Well, no. Evan. It's Evan," Evan responds, looking back down at his sandwich. "You're Connor Murphy."

"Hmm," Connor looks pleased with himself, then distinctly displeased. "You probably know that 'cause I'm the school freak, huh? There goes Connor Murphy, I wonder if today will be the day he actually kills himself. That kind of thing."

"No, it's not-"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" Connor gets up, furious in a flash, and storming off into the tree line.

"Wait! Connor!" Evan calls after him, jumping to his feet. "You, uh, the other day, you might have saved my life. The doctor said I had a pretty bad concussion and if I hadn't gone to the hospital... so, uh, thank you. For that. Thanks."

"Oh," Connor whispers thoughtfully. "just don't do anything stupid like that again, Hansen. That's all."

"Right."

Connor digs around in his pocket and takes out a lighter, raising an eyebrow. "Wanna get high with me?"

Evan jumps so far he feels he's separated from his own skin. "No! No, no, not me. Drugs are really scary and they make people really scary. Oh, sorry! Not that you're scary, because you're not. I just mean, uh, oh no."

"Hansen?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm messing with you."

"Oh, haha."

Then Connor smiles and laughs this low bark of a laugh that doesn't come across as at all mean spirited. He pats Evan on the shoulder in passing as he leaves and Evan begins to laugh too. It's funny, sort of, in a dark way. He doesn't end up minding that much that the joke's directed at him. Connor's back is turned now and he's trailing away. It's only after he's disappeared absolutely from his view that Evan realizes that this is the first time he's laughed in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you enjoy !! <3
> 
> Please love me. I'm so lonely. Sit down, have a cup of tea, I can write you some more depressing shit. It'll be nice.


	2. Cherry Pit (July)

That Summer passes like most Summers do, fast and easy and just a tad sad for those who are lonely. Not that Evan's lonely. He's too busy to pay much mind to his mom's demanding work schedule or Jared's newest vacation. He works his Summer job as a park ranger as often as he can. He volunteers at the local animal shelter to fill his extra time. Eventually, halfway through July, when he is finally free, he finds a solution immediately. The farmer's market isn't that far away, so he walks. He wants to buy cherries for his favourite pie. Not that he can bake at all, but there's always time to learn. 

It's one of the hottest heatwaves of the year so he ends up taking his sweater off and almost ends up unbuttoning his polo. Unfortunately, he's forgotten to bring any water so the quick, ten minute walk gets longer with a detour into the public library, where Evan has always found his safe haven and, more importantly, where they have water fountains. It should be fast and inconsequential but, of course, it isn't.

He goes through the front entrance faster than he probably should, because he's in a rush and because he doesn't want the mean new librarian, who commented on his book choices before, to spot him, even if she mostly likely wouldn't even remember him. He goes in fast, hangs the corner, and the fountain should be on his right, except- 

Instead he's greeted with a muffled thud and his forehead slamming into a library patron's chest. "Sorry, I... hi."

"Hey." Connor breathes, picking up a pile of books on art theory that have escaped his grasp and tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

"I'm sorry," Evan starts again. "It's really hot outside."

"Uh?"

"I was getting a drink. But I ran into you. So. Sorry. Right. I really am! Sorry, that is."

"Hansen?"

Evan pivots around from where he's already begun to sneak off and out of the uncomfortable situation."...Connor?"

"It's fine. It was my fault."

"Oh," No it wasn't. "No it wasn't. It was my fault. I am so sorry, Connor."

Connor laughs like he's exasperated and fond at the same time. Evan likes it. It's a nice sound to hear from someone who's usually so angsty. All the same, he's shocked at his own train of thought. This is Connor Murphy. Connor is strange and dangerous and terrifying and alluring in the same way that drugs and sex and violence are. It's just not normal for him to appear so approachable, especially considering Evan's inability to approach anyone.

"Why are you at the library?" He doesn't mean to stress the you but he does.

It's awful, because now Connor looks hurt and defensive instead of the previous almost nice version of him. "My parents wanted me out of my room and not doing drugs."

"Art theory, that's cool." Evan doesn't know why he's still talking. He's only messing it up worse. He's messing it up.

"I like to draw, ok?" Connor snaps.

"Okay. Sorry again." Evan makes to exit, to make his big escape now. He needs water now more than ever, seeing as the exchage has made his mouth go dry.

"Dude, no. Stop apologizing. Come on." Evan might think it's just an expression of annoyance if Connor wasn't leading the way outside already, slamming the door behind him.

He jogs to catch up, though he still couldn't explain why if asked. He stops to catch his breath at the bottom of the front steps. Connor, luckily, is waiting nearby, leaning against the library sign. His books are safely secured inside his bag, hidden from view lest any passersby notice them. He rakes a hand back through his hair.

"Where are we going?" Evan asks, then Connor doesn't answer and he rethinks. "Oh no. Obviously that's not what you meant. Sorry, I thought-"

"I literally said come on."

"Right."

"You have to stop apologizing to me. It's annoying as shit and..." He averts his gaze. "it makes me feel bad, okay?"

They fall into a nearly companionable silence as Connor directs them to a sleek, black car across the street. Its interior is messy. It's littered with fast food packaging across the back seats and smells like a concoction of perfumes that's failing to cover other, less flowery aromas. Connor slams his door and turns on the engine. The music that comes blasting from the radio is more scream based than Evan's typical taste. Connor changes it pretty quickly, to a lower volume and a classic rock station.

"Nirvana alright?"

"Yeah." Evan tries not to pay attention to the fact that he's in the passenger seat of a car that belongs to a stranger. 

"Good. I'd have to kill you if it wasn't." Is apparently the wrong comment for Connor to make. Horror immediately spreads across his face at Evan's expression. "I'm kidding. You know, 'cause they're legendary. Not, like, I'm actually some freak murderer."

"No, I didn't think-"

Connor sighs and, without warning, lays his head down on the steering wheel. "Fuck! I'm not trying to be a psycho here. I guess that's just my natural state, huh?"

"That's not-"

"Whatever. You're thinking it."

Evan fidgets in his seat. "Sorry, but where did you say we're going?"

Connor takes them to get ice cream through a drive through. He offers to pay, saying it's his apology for running into Evan and also, in his words, for being a dick. Evan doesn't want to accept. It's always the same story there, with other people who have money paying for him when he just wants to maintain some dignity. Somehow, something's different with Connor, though, and Evan agrees. It's easier this way, even if it makes him feel inferior and confused and at fault for everything. He's the one who went and got himself injured and the one who's wasing Connor's time and money now.

"Relax," Connor advises, handing him his scoop of, yes, cherry. "It's my dad's money."

Once they've both finished eating and they no longer have an excuse to avoid conversation, the car gets awkwardly quiet. Connor elects to keep driving. They're not going any one place in particular but they each make note of the world as they pass by it and eventually it turns into a game of "I Spy" minus the main aspect of guessing. It's just Evan pointing out the window at flowers he likes and naming their scientific families and Connor pointing out houses he's been to parties at and rating how good the alcohol was. It's fun. Not in the way that things are fun when they're by themselves, but fun in a new and interesting way. It's weird. It shouldn't be happening. But it's fun nonetheless.

When they stop, it's late. They pull up beside an open field. For a moment, Evan gets the horrible, embarrassing thought that this will be the moment Connor kills him, but it leaves like it came and is replaced with a gut clenching shame. Connor lets go of the steering wheel and meets Evan's eyes with such a realness to his actions that all Evan can do is listen to him speak.

"Listen, I know we're not friends," He says friends like it's poison on his tongue. "but I guess you're not the worst."

"Oh," Evan doesn't mean to swell up with pride. He doesn't mean to be so utterly flattered. It's just, he can't even believe the idea of actually being liked, let alone liked by Connor Murphy, king of disliking people. He may or may not be able to contain his growing smile. So he feels very very small indeed when he says "You too."


	3. Lettuce Leaf (August)

Evan waits with his hands folded in his lap. He bows his head slightly, just enough not to be able to see the clock on his bedroom wall, and occupies himself with daydreams about different, less important and more calming, things. His thumbs fiddle a little. Twitch, twitch. Then he's tapping his right foot against the hardwood floor. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Click! He switches, taps his left foot.

The phone doesn't ring, though admittedly, it might be worse if it did. 

Then it does and it is.

He's out of his seat quick, his heart beating quick, his palms sweating so much that he doesn't trust himself not to drop the phone. He cradles it between his shoulder and ear to solve the problem but that means he can't hear over the receiver, so he adjusts it and he's in an uncomfortable position, so he tries standing up instead. And, of course, he hasn't said a word yet either.

"Hello?"

"...uh..."

"Evan?"

"...uh...hold on."

"Hansen!"

"Connor?"

Evan can practically hear Connor rolling his eyes across town. "No, it's phenomenally talented singer-songwriter, Sufjan Stevens, who do you think?"

Smile. "Hi Connor."

Sigh. "Hi."

It doesn't entirely make sense for the conversation to be happening at all. Evan knows this now and he knew it a month ago, when he scribbled his number down, only vaguely reluctantly, on the corner of Connor's library receipt. The evolving friendship between the two of them isn't like any of the usual friendships they've seen. There must be some Romeo and Juliet, tale of two families, thrill of secrecy, aspect at play that draws each of them to someone so vastly different. It does feel like that at times, sneaking around in all their meetings so no one will question it. It's not that Evan's embarrassed of Connor, though he's fairly certain that's what Connor thinks. It's just that rich stoners and poor nerds don't hang out together, no matter how nice their presence makes each other feel.

Now, on the last day before senior year, it sets in that maybe that presence isn't meant to last any longer than the Summer. 

"I'll pick you up." Connor suggests, so Evan goes to sit on the porch and wait.

He picks absently at a loose thread on his shorts, bouncing his knee, thinking maybe Connor won't come. He doesn't arrive for another ten minutes but when he does, he rolls down the window and beckons Evan over and that thought is almost gone like the heat of August subtly dissipates into Autumn. Evan stands but doesn't move down to the street. He's thinking, this is the last time he'll make that walk to meet Connor. Thinking, there he is, right there, but not there too.

"What's up?" Connor calls from the driver's side window. "hurry up and get in the Charger, Hansen."

"The... who?"

"No, that's a band."

Laughter. "Yeah, I know. What's a Charger?"

"1969 Dodge Charger," a beat, then "my car, dork. My parents got it for me when I turned sixteen. It's pretty much the only good thing they've ever done. "

"Rich people actually get cars for their birthdays?" Evan rarely even has the money for the bus. His mom got him a new laptop for his sixteenth birthday and it's the most expensive thing he owns. A car like this would probably be worth several hundred laptops.

"I'm not rich." Connor mumbles but Evan politely disagrees.

He gets in and makes sure to fasten his seat belt tightly over his chest, something he notices Connor hasn't done. He doesn't mean to judge but he might give a small, uneasy face that hints at his opinion. And Connor might casually lean over and fix his own seat belt afterwards with just the slightest sign of resistance. Either way, neither of them speak of it. Instead, they both lean back in their seats and turn to face each other and then, there it is, they're looking at each other like "there you are."

"Oh!" Evan reaches into the pocket of his pants. "I found this- I thought you'd like it since, you know, you like art."

He grabs the object, a tiny blank sketchbook he never ended up using, and holds it out in his hand but, as he takes it out so excitedly, a page of paper flies away from beneath it and falls to their feet. Connor kicks it up and unfolds it before he can stop him. Evan makes to grab it back but it's already too late. Connor's knuckles are white, tight around the note. He bites his lip in concentration.

"This is dated for... that's the day you got that cast, isn't it?"

Evan nods. Looks away, out toward his empty house and up at his dark bedroom window, waiting for Connor to abandon him there and realize how much of a freak he truly is. He only turns when he hears a ripping and catches Connor tearing the paper in two, four, eight, a hundred pieces, and dropping them all out onto the asphalt. He watches in a sort of dull shock as Connor gets angrier and angrier and angrier and still as he looks to him and his face pales.

Evan is frowning but unspeaking.

"I'm sorry," Connor says suddenly, when calm finally washes over them again. "I probably shouldn't have done that. I just got so angry and it's what I usually end up doing with my- with my notes."

"It's okay, just-"

"Fuck."

"No, just, you kind of littered right in front of my house."

Connor squints at him, likes he's never seen anything quite like Evan before. "Damn, you are something, man. That's what you're mad about. Of course it is."

"Connor?"

"Yeah?"

Evan shuffles his feet against each other. "I'll tell you about my fall if you want, but not today, okay?"

"Nah, not today." Connor agrees, then adds, a little quieter "I get it, Evan."After a brief pause, he places his open hand over Evan's, which is still clasped around the sketchbook, and scoops it away to examine. "Thanks, though. This is, uh," He coughs "it's cute."

"It's what?"

"Nothing! It's cool, whatever. Let's go."

He drives them to an orchard full of crisp apple trees and green leaves fading into yellow and orange leaves. They're listening to a Sufjan CD and when they stop the car, Connor puts it on on his phone instead and offers Evan an earbud. They get out and walk like that, with a soft voice in one ear each and constant conversation in the other. Evan steps on each and every prematurely fallen leaf on the grass and Connor laughs at him every time and keeps walking the path to keep his doc martens from dirt, which Evan laughs back at him for.

He notices this about Connor, not for the first time: he is unafraid of what he looks like to others. His hand brushes his pantleg, nails painted black but chipped freely and filled in in places with permanent marker when he didn't have any nail polish on him. Evan watches how his fingers curl around the loop in his belt and rest there, long and elegant and unlike his own. It's kind of punk, he thinks, to be so carefree. Connor wouldn't hesitate if he ever felt the urge to take someone else's hand in his and just hold it. He is different than Evan in that, because Evan doesn't lift his own hand from his pocket. He doesn't dare.

They reach a sunny spot where they flop down. A gentle breeze rustles their hair into tangles but Evan wants to be punk, he wants not to care. Sufjan is singing about trees and there are trees above him waving in the wind and he remembers that he loves nature. Especially with Connor beside him, scribbling something floral into his sketchbook and setting a warmth into Evan's chest. He hums contently along to the music and almost misses Connor digging in his hoodie's front pocket.

He raises a joint to his lips and flicks a lighter on. Evan's eyes widen. He's shaking but he keeps looking as Connor tilts his head, exposing his throat and and letting out a long puff. When his eyes reopen, they fix themselves on Evan's. He offers the joint with a barely noticeable turn of the wrist. Evan takes it.

He's half freaking out immediately because never in his life did he expect to become a junkie. A pothead. What if he gets addicted? Can that happen? He tries to imagine himself at a 420 protest and nearly chokes. His eyes water. Wait, should he blow the smoke out yet? Oh. Oh, yes, he should definitely blow it out. How do you blow smoke out? He opens his mouth and coughs a couple times, then breathes carefully. 

Connor is very amused indeed, taking the joint back. "Like this, idiot."

Evan makes sure to pay attention this time, to technique rather than to the slope of Connor's neck or the quiver of his lips. "Okay." He says, when it's his turn again.

"Shouldn't you be more concerned about this? Not that I want you to be but how are you actually okay with this?"

That's weird. Evan's usual anxiety seems completely numbed, not entirely absent but at least less active in his brain. He might be beginning to understand why Connor prefers this state. He gulps for more air and tries to think about how bad and dangerous drugs are. Right, he's probably addicted already. Not good. He puts his head in his hands because it's pounding loudly and maybe that's the pot or maybe it's him but no matter what it hurts.

"Hey," Connor puts a hand on his shoulder. "We can stop now. This was a bad idea. I'm not trying to corrupt you, I promise."

Together, they get Evan into a lying position.

"For real, you don't have to do that shit if you don't want to. If I'm like, pressuring you."

Evan doesn't mind and he says as much, without really pausing to dwell on it. Anxiety must be sleeping. For now, he is saying all his thoughts aloud whether they're about the grass or the music or how tired he is or how nice Connor's drawings are.

"You're pretty," He observes and, even though he's talking directly to the drawing at that point, Connor is all vulnerable and open in the expression he casts back. "like Zoe."

"Like Zoe?"

"Hmm?"

"Pretty like freaking Zoe?"

"Zoe. I like Zoe."

"You like my sister?" Connor sits up, knees tucked against his chest. "You like my sister. Of course you like my sister." He's started crying at some point, only enough that his eyes are wet and his voice wavers a bit. He fights it down with anger and yelling. Evan doesn't think he's supposed to hear the last part, the tiny "Why would you actually like me?" but he can't make out what it's supposed to mean anyway. He's stubbornly, selfishly sleepy now. Too tired to pay mind to Connor standing up and storming off, kicking a tree trunk or to consider that he shouldn't get up and drive right now. But then Connor's gone and so is the car and the drawing. 

Again, he is lying flat on his back, surrounded by trees, utterly alone in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor's music taste is whatever I feel like it is. Hence Sufjan. He likes The Front Bottoms too, just so you know. 
> 
> The Charger is one sexy car, trust me.
> 
> And Evan is a very fidgety boy. I won't stop letting him fidget.
> 
> Anyway, fear not, friends. I only write for the fluff so the angst is definitely building up to something.


	4. Swedish Berries (September)

He starts off with another letter. This one really is for his therapist's benefit. "Dear Evan Hansen, today will be a good day because it's the first day of senior year." What a joke. If anything, that's all the more reason for today to fall apart.

He musters up a fake smile for his mom when she asks, though, and agrees to print it off after school. He can at least pretend to be excited for the first day if it'll make her happy. Then she won't look so sad for his sake. It works. She's beaming at him as she piles more pancakes than he could ever reasonablly eat onto his plate. 

"Have a wonderful day, my Evan." She recites in that cheery voice she's supposed to use with him.

"I will." Evan tells her as he pulls his backpack on, even though he doesn't believe it.

"I love you." More cheer with an extra dash of cheese, but Evan has to admit he likes the attention.

"Will you be here tonight?"

His mom glances at the calendar on the fridge and he already knows the answer. "I'm sorry, honey."

"It's okay." 

"But hey! We'll have a special dinner tomorrow, how about that? To celebrate your final year of high school."

"Okay. Love you too."

Jared lives far enough away that it becomes more of a trek to meet him at the halfway point than it would be to walk to school on his own, but it's tradition for them to go together and, besides, it would be rude to point that out. They converge like usual in front of the Seven Eleven, where Jared's waiting impatiently, shoveling a dollar bag of candy into his mouth.

"Did you even eat breakfast first?"

"There are eggs in here, see?" Jared shows off a small, white and yellow gummy. "And berries."

"Swedish berries?"

"Still counts."

Evan laughs. Sometimes, it almost feels like he and Jared are real friends and not just family friends. "Well, it's better than a slurpee, I guess."

Jared raises an eyebrow and pats the side pocket of his backpack. "Got that too. Want some?"

They amble into the building together and stop at their adjacent lockers, conversing about their respective summers. Jared, for his part, shares everything that happened to him. Evan, for his, doesn't bring up Connor. He keeps talk on being a forest ranger instead which, luckily, is boring enough that Jared doesn't ask many questions beyond it. He does, however, question the cast.

"I already told you. I fell out of a tree."

"You fell. Out of a tree. You know you're seventeen, not seven, right?"

Evan starts counting the grayish tiles of the floor."I know."

"Hey, Connor!"

Evan lifts his head in shock at hearing the name and is able to catch the back of Connor receding around the corner, without acknowledging the shout out. Or, taunt, more accurately. Now that Evan's paying attention, he can hear more of these same cries from down the hall, not all as unassuming as Jared's was. The voices follow Connor as he moves along and fade off naturally until they're completely out of earshot of Evan. He stares at the empty space that Connor was occupying until Jared taps him on the shoulder.

"Uh, Evan?"

"Yeah?"

"It's weird, right? He didn't even get angry. Probably high."

"Yeah, probably."

They split up for first period. For Jared, it's biology. For Evan, it's English. He doesn't have anything against English. It's easy enough to study novels and essay skills. Plus, most of the time is spent silently reading over assignments so he doesn't have to speak up nearly as often as he does for some classes. Except when they're in groups. This year, miraculously, the seats are set up in pairs and there's one empty set left at the very back when he enters. Normally, Evan would prefer to sit at the front but he'll take what he can get. As long as no one's absent, he should be able to sit alone all term. He snatches the seat closest to the window and sets his notebooks on the desk, where he has twice as much space as his classmates. That's one good thing to add to his next letter.

The bell rings and every seat except the one beside his is full. The teacher combs through her attendance list and each student responds. Here. Here. Here. Alana Beck is here. So is Jeremy Heere. Evan is here. Here. Here. Here.

"Connor Murphy?"

Connor is decidedly not there. Which means he's skipping. Probably high, just like Jared said, and Evan can imagine if Jared was in this class, the way he would lean over and snicker. Probably high and skipping, like a true delinquent. And isn't Evan a delinquent now too? Does it still count when he's pretty sure Connor hates him?

How will he react when he learns the only available seat is next to Evan? Will he punch him? Threaten him? Or just keep skipping?

A sudden, stinging thought hits him. Is Connor even skipping? Maybe he's sick. Maybe all the terrible insults in the hallway actually penetrated through his tough exterior. Evan remembers sincerity in his tone as Connor had said "I get it." He remembers the way he always seems to understand in a way most people can't. The moment his anxiety makes the suggestion, Evan can't let go of it. There's this growing panic bubbling in his stomach.

He shoots up his hand to ask for the bathroom pass but the time seems to drag on. He can't get the question out. Everyone stares expectantly, waiting for him to ask about the syllabus he's supposed to be reading but his throat tightens around itself. The worst part is how condescending his audience becomes. He's sure Alana is offering to take him to the nurse out of concern but she just sounds scary and judgemental. They all do. The teacher begins to clop her clanging high heels down the aisle towards him and he shoots up without thought.

"I'm fine. I need the- the- bathroom." He stutters and races out of the room, barely managing to pull his bag along with him and slam the door closed after himself.

He walks through the school, trying to regain composure and finds a clock in the cafeteria that informs him he's only a half hour into class. There's no going back, so he hikes three flights of stairs to the top floor, where his favourite bathroom is nestled between the teacher's lounge and the door to the roof. It might be funny, if he had a key or a rebellious nature, to hide out in one of them instead. As it is, he drags back the heavy bathroom door and slips inside.

It's a single stall, with a urinal and a sink in the corner, built for one person at a time, but that never stops couples from sharing it for other reasons. Evan isn't sure why you'd want to do that at school of all places but he's not particularly bothered by the condoms in the trashbin if it means he gets extra privacy. People tend to assume that he's innocent because he's quiet. Well, he is innocent. And a virgin, not that it matters. But he's not naive.

He reads the graffiti on the wall. Some of it's new from the summer school kids. He giggles to himself, feeling a bit better, at a cute drawing of a turtle. He frowns in distaste at the swear words and slurs.

Some people call this the "transgender bathroom", which is blunt and unnecessary, even if all the trans kids use it. It just shows how mean his classmates can be, how cruel they are to anyone who's different than them. Evan's face heats up and he backs into the wall, allowing himself to slide down to the floor.

The panic is back, bigger and heavier. He's messed up everything. Here he thought he had made a friend but he messed that up too. He's too stupid, too much of a loser, to even keep another outcast as a friend. No wonder Jared was so stuck on the family friend label. No one would ever want Evan Hansen as a real friend.

Even Connor, who has his own problems to face.

The door is made of metal, so it takes a lot to open and Evan is on his feet by the time Connor steps inside. Evan makes to walk past him but loses the energy before he can get halfway there. He collapses against the sink, resting his arms on the lip of it and cradling his head in them. Connor's shoes, visible from the miniscule patch of floor Evan can see, are a pair of worn down black vans, with marker on the rubber soles. They aren't as loud as the heels as they travel closer and their increased proximity lets Evan read some of the words on them, more swears for the most part.

"What're you, hung over?" Connor asks, which is probably a joke.

Evan cranes his neck upward to make eye contact. Connor's eyes aren't red and his pupils look regular sized to him. "Are you high?" He shoots back.

"Woah, Hansen. You've got attitude. I'm kind of proud."

"Are we friends?" Evan asks but his breath hitches as he says it.

"Are we...?"

"Are we friends, Connor? Because we never said it before and after yesterday you seemed really mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, Hansen. Chill out," Evan is confused and it shows. "I was mad but I'm not anymore, okay? Yeah, we're friends. If you want to be."

"Good." Evan says and falls forward into Connor. He clutches at his hoodie's fabric and wills himself to stop hyperventilating, to find some way out of the cycle he's in, but his body is out of his control and it aches. "I'm having a panic attack."

"Oh. Right. Oh, shit." Connor puts one hand on Evans shoulder and pets his hair carefully with the other. "Is this alright?" Evan nods. "Okay, just... shit, breathe in? And out... now. I'm here, Evan. We're friends and I'm here for you. Do you... God, this is awkward but do you want to talk about it?"

Evan pulls back. "I said I'd tell you about my fall. This seems like as good a time as any."

He tells him, then, about the note in all its iterations. He tells him about riding off into the forest. He tells him about being found, even the bits he already knows. And Connor keeps his hand steadily on Evan's shoulder and his eyes trained on his. He listens.

When Evan's done telling his story in its entirety, Connor shoves his hand into his bag and drops a small object out of it and into the garbage.

"What was that?"

"Razor. Don't look at me like that. I threw it out, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

"Want to skip the rest of the day?"

Evan closes his eyes. He thinks, there could be worse first days than this. He smiles nervously. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BMC refrences are necessary sometimes, I'm sorry.
> 
> Please comment, I will love you if you do!


	5. Marigold (October)

It's almost too easy for them to fall into normalcy together. Skipping is surprisingly fun. Evan has never been a rebel in his life but now, out of nowhere, he finds himself lying to his teachers and dashing home to delete messages from the office off the answering machine before his mom hears them. Even Jared, in a shocking display of actual compassion for another person, starts nagging him about seeing a doctor if he's really sick that much. He kind of hates it. Almost.

Still, there's something about being with Connor that makes all his concerns disappear. It finally feels like someone else not only understands him but wants to be around him. It might be a bit unhealthy for them to suddenly spend so much time together. Maybe they're feeding into each other's illnesses, giving each other someone to leech onto. At the same time, Evan feels like he deserves to be given at least some of that attention. He is as ignored by his peers now as he was before. When he sees Connor by himself, getting called names between any classes he does attend, he knows that they both need this friendship. It keeps them sane and grounded with this sense of calmness that is so incredibly foreign compared to the rest of their chaotic lives.

On the day Connor eventually starts coming to English, Evan is one of a minority of students who arrive before the bell to claim their seats. He has to sit in the same seat every day. He can't be late and lose it. Thus, he's the first one in the room after the teacher, with his books out and his eyes trained on the board, when Connor sways in in his casual manner, messenger bag thrown over one shoulder and hair tied back carelessly and messily. It's not cool in the same way Connor usually is but pleasant in that it's so unexpected. A boy makes a comment and Connor glares as he floats to the back of the room and sits down directly next to Evan, not bothering to ask permission. Evan opens his copy of "The Great Gatsby" and pretends he isn't at all flustered by this. He never even told Connor that the chair beside his was the only free one. Having a friend is nice like that.

They do talk about Evan's feelings for Zoe, in part. He says that, yes, he does still like her. Connor looks like he's only pretending it doesn't bother him but at least he's pretending instead of abandoning Evan because of it or telling Zoe about it or, murdering anyone over it. He gets a tiny twitch whenever Evan mentions her, though, so he tries to keep it to a minimum and they get along fine. 

It's simpler to avoid teling their families about each other, so as not to get nagged about it or receive any of those fake encouraging smiles from their mothers. At school, this works out great in terms of keeping the status quo and horribly in terms of how lonely Evan finds himself. It means there's more incentive to skip so he ends up skipping more and more. Nothing is perfect or without flaws but it feels better than it used to and that's something.

Halloween comes with a spike of violent crimes in the neighbourhood, so Evan's mom gets longer and longer hours at the hospital leading up to it. On the day itself, she calls home to say she's working the night shift and she won't be back until the morning. It's fine. Evan isn't a little kid anymore and he's staying in for the night. He isn't invited to any of the big Halloween parties and he certainly doesn't need to go trick or treating, even after Jared, fully suited up and ready when he arrives on his doorstep that evening, suggests they do. Once Evan finally rids himself of his pleas that "Nobody will give me candy if I'm by myself, though!", it turns into a pretty peacful night. He's long since been old enough to be home alone and it's really no big deal considering he does it several times a week already. Handing out candy to little kids keeps his hands and mind occupied for the first few hours anyway.

It's only after, when it gets truly dark out and the lanterns on his neighbours' stoops starts to flicker out one by one, that he becomes so violently aware of the noises of his house. The once friendly and charming creak of the floorboards is no more. The gentle rumble of the laundry machine is transformed into a malicious beast hiding upstairs. In fact, all of the nice qualities about Evan's house are made infinitely more threatening and macabre, so much so that he almost misses the added noise of a fist against glass, knocking at the kitchen window.

Then it gets louder and he definitely notices.

Evan jumps up and peers out the peephole in the front door but he can't see anyone standing there. Carefully, he grasps the door knob. He looks both directions as if preparing to cross a busy street, then, with caution, yanks it open. Stepping out barefooted onto the porch, he lets the door swing closed behind himself. There. He sees a shadowy figure a few feet away, out of the light, and shakes off the fear that's creeping up on him. It could be his mom, home earlier than expected. Please let it be his mom.

Evan moves closer, onto wet grass and toward the side of the house. The figure shifts and matches his movements like a slow, unchoreographed dance. It bursts into the light. Illuminated, Evan can see a person, still barely distinguishable, reaching out to him as they stumble forward.

"Connor?"

"Hey," Connor rubs at his wrist where his sleeve ends in a collection of frayed threads and glances down at their feet. "Are you... not wearing shoes?"

"Yep!" Evan laughs and all his discomfort seems to drain from his body. "Sorry...or, not sorry. Right. Not to be rude but why are you here?"

Connor shrugs. "It's stupid," he says in a strange tone of voice "I had a fight with my dad."

"Okay. Here."

Evan leads him to the porch swing and claims his spot before patting the remaining space in what he hopes is an inviting manner. Connor follows with some reluctance but takes the seat. He's still touching his own arm, tracing light patterns with his finger. Evan lifts his legs up and wraps his arms around his knees, settling into what feels like a safe, easy sitting position. Connor cocks an eyebrow at him but he doesn't mention it and Evan, in turn, decides to ignore the slight tremor in his voice when he speaks again.

"My dad's such a bigot. He thinks I'm this piece of garbage son and Zoe's this perfect angel daughter."

Evan doesn't know how to respond to that. It's true that he has been harbouring a crush on Zoe Murphy for years now. He's always looked up to her, respected her beyond reason, and practically worshipped her as some kind of goddess. Funny, he never really knew her that well. He can count on two hands the number of times they've actually spoken and yet he's still so enamoured with her. Whereas, in Connor's case, Evan can honestly say at this point that he knows who he is. He's the first person, even if nobody else knows it, who's ever been genuinely nice to him for this long. 

"You're not a garbage son." He tries.

"Oh, I know. He's just a shitty parent."

"What was the fight about? Unless, you don't want-"

"Evan, do you know why everyone at school hates me?"

The question is so serious that it makes them both pause in shock. Around them, the world goes on but it's quiet in that moment, pondering, sitting with them. It's disrupted soon by a new round of fireworks going off down the street. Evan shivers. He hates the sound of fireworks.

"Because they don't know you." He answers.

"What?"

"Well, my mom always told me the only reason nobody wanted to be my friend in Elementary school was because they never got to know how cool I was. So-"

He's interrupted by a soft sigh and turns to see Connor looking both sad and fond. "That's not why."

"Oh."

"My dad thinks I'm a freak, just like everyone at school does." Connor leans over and spits off into the lawn.

"Woah, watch the marigolds! And I don't." 

"No, I know that." He huffs in annoyance. "Hansen, why are you the nicest fucking person in the world?"

"Huh?" Evan puts his hands up in front of his face. "I'm not! I just... I guess I know what it's like to be treated like you don't matter."

Connor gets up and walks down to a Jack 'O lantern, still glowing dimly in the night. He picks it up by the base to examine. Evan scampers down after him, taking it back into the safety of his arms. Connor taps the second pumpkin, the smaller of the two, with his shoe.

"We really shouldn't touch- I made them with my mom."

"That's cool. I'm sure Zoe and I used to do this stuff as kids too."

"Nice. What are you doing?"

Connor shuffles a small switchblade in his hand and digs it down into the pumpkin, destroying the design in one swift slash.

"Oh."

He smirks up at Evan.

"That looks... fun. Can I try?"

"There it is. What do I have to do to make you hate me already? You're way too nice."

Evan hugs his pumpkin tighter to himself. "Connor?"

He's standing with his knife at his side, clenched tight in his fist. His hair falls limp and tangled like its been left unwashed for a while. This is Connor at his worst. As far as Evan can tell, this is the Connor everyone else seems to despise. But he doesn't hate him. Perhaps he isn't his favourite iteration of him but this is still his friend. It's still Connor. Slowly, he lets the rage die down. Slowly, he closes the blade in on itself.

"I'm just pissed at my parents."

"I can sort of see that."

"I hate feeling like such a fuck up. Evan, I'm gay."

"...Okay."

If he's truthful, Evan hasn't been expecting this confession, but he's honoured to be given it. It spikes a determination within him. Is that really why Connor's parents are so awful? And their classmates too? Evan doesn't know much about LGBT issues but he vows right then to protect Connor from hatred. Which is odd, considering he's still getting used to not being afraid of the person he's protecting. And, actually, he can defend himself fine on his own. Which Evan can't really do. Maybe if he just treats him like a friend. Maybe if he keeps being agressively nice to him. Yeah, that's it.

"Want to come in and watch Nightmare Before Christmas? I kind of left the TV on." He admits.

"Are there snacks?"

"Leftover candy?"

"Then Hell yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels so short but, hey, it's something! I wrote something! Ughhh please send encouragment if possible. I'm trying.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


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